The library after school didn't look the way I expected it to.
I thought it would be loud—crowded with people flipping pages, talking over each other, laughing. But instead, it was calm. Soft. The lights were dimmer than usual, and the tables were covered with stacks of books arranged in uneven piles, like someone had tried their best and then given up halfway through.
Simon was already there.
Of course he was.
He stood near the fiction table, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, reading the back of a book like he had all the time in the world. When he noticed me, he straightened slightly, like he wasn't sure if he should wave or pretend he hadn't seen me yet.
"Hey," I said first, saving us both.
"Hey," he replied, smiling. Not the small, nervous one—this one was softer. Easier.
For a second, we just stood there.
"So," I said, gesturing vaguely. "Books."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. They really went all out."
We started walking between the tables, not rushing, not planning where we were going. I liked that about being with him—there was no pressure to fill every second with noise.
Simon picked up a thin paperback and turned it over in his hands. "This one's missing the last chapter."
"That feels illegal," I said.
"Or poetic," he countered. "You're forced to imagine your own ending."
I tilted my head. "Do you like that?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes. Real life doesn't give you endings anyway. Just… pauses."
That landed heavier than I expected.
I picked up a book at random. Love in the Time of Static.
"That doesn't even mean anything," I said.
Simon smiled. "That's how they get you."
I laughed, then realized how quiet the library was again. How close we were standing now. Close enough that I could see the faint ink smudge on his thumb, probably from annotating something earlier.
"You write in your books," I said.
"Only the ones I keep," he replied. "Margins feel safer than saying things out loud."
I swallowed.
"I used to do that," I said. "But then we moved so much, I stopped. It felt pointless."
Simon looked at me—not pitying, not intense. Just listening.
"Maybe," he said gently, "you stopped because you didn't want to leave pieces of yourself behind."
I didn't answer right away.
I didn't need to.
We drifted toward a small table near the back, stacked with old hardcovers. Simon pulled one out, dust puffing into the air.
"Careful," I said. "You're disturbing ancient knowledge."
"Worth it," he said, opening the book. Inside, the pages were filled with handwritten notes—someone else's thoughts layered over the story.
"This is kind of beautiful," I said.
"Yeah," Simon agreed. "Like proof someone else was here."
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Sure."
"Why do you sit alone?"
He blinked, surprised—but not offended.
"I don't always mean to," he admitted. "It just… happens."
"That's not really an answer."
He smiled faintly. "Okay. Then… because it's quieter. And when things are quiet, I don't feel like I'm doing something wrong."
I nodded slowly.
With Jason, everything felt loud. Charged. With Ben, it felt warm and reassuring. With Simon…
It felt honest.
The librarian announced they'd be closing in ten minutes, and suddenly I felt disappointed. Like I'd just started a chapter I wasn't ready to end.
Simon walked me toward the exit.
"Thanks for coming," he said. "I wasn't sure you would."
"I'm glad I did," I replied.
Outside, the air was cool. The sky already dimming.
We stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither of us moving.
"Hey, Laura?" he said.
"Yeah?"
"If you ever want to borrow a book," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I mean—not just any book. One with… good margins—I could lend you one."
I smiled. "I'd like that."
As I walked away, I felt it again—that strange, steady pull. Not overwhelming. Not demanding.
Just there.
And for the first time since I got here, I wondered—
What if the quiet ones were the hardest to walk away from?
Chapter Six: Margins
The library after school didn't look the way I expected it to.
I thought it would be loud—crowded with people flipping pages, talking over each other, laughing. But instead, it was calm. Soft. The lights were dimmer than usual, and the tables were covered with stacks of books arranged in uneven piles, like someone had tried their best and then given up halfway through.
Simon was already there.
Of course he was.
He stood near the fiction table, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, reading the back of a book like he had all the time in the world. When he noticed me, he straightened slightly, like he wasn't sure if he should wave or pretend he hadn't seen me yet.
"Hey," I said first, saving us both.
"Hey," he replied, smiling. Not the small, nervous one—this one was softer. Easier.
For a second, we just stood there.
"So," I said, gesturing vaguely. "Books."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. They really went all out."
We started walking between the tables, not rushing, not planning where we were going. I liked that about being with him—there was no pressure to fill every second with noise.
Simon picked up a thin paperback and turned it over in his hands. "This one's missing the last chapter."
"That feels illegal," I said.
"Or poetic," he countered. "You're forced to imagine your own ending."
I tilted my head. "Do you like that?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes. Real life doesn't give you endings anyway. Just… pauses."
That landed heavier than I expected.
I picked up a book at random. Love in the Time of Static.
"That doesn't even mean anything," I said.
Simon smiled. "That's how they get you."
I laughed, then realized how quiet the library was again. How close we were standing now. Close enough that I could see the faint ink smudge on his thumb, probably from annotating something earlier.
"You write in your books," I said.
"Only the ones I keep," he replied. "Margins feel safer than saying things out loud."
I swallowed.
"I used to do that," I said. "But then we moved so much, I stopped. It felt pointless."
Simon looked at me—not pitying, not intense. Just listening.
"Maybe," he said gently, "you stopped because you didn't want to leave pieces of yourself behind."
I didn't answer right away.
I didn't need to.
We drifted toward a small table near the back, stacked with old hardcovers. Simon pulled one out, dust puffing into the air.
"Careful," I said. "You're disturbing ancient knowledge."
"Worth it," he said, opening the book. Inside, the pages were filled with handwritten notes—someone else's thoughts layered over the story.
"This is kind of beautiful," I said.
"Yeah," Simon agreed. "Like proof someone else was here."
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Sure."
"Why do you sit alone?"
He blinked, surprised—but not offended.
"I don't always mean to," he admitted. "It just… happens."
"That's not really an answer."
He smiled faintly. "Okay. Then… because it's quieter. And when things are quiet, I don't feel like I'm doing something wrong."
I nodded slowly.
With Jason, everything felt loud. Charged. With Ben, it felt warm and reassuring. With Simon…
It felt honest.
The librarian announced they'd be closing in ten minutes, and suddenly I felt disappointed. Like I'd just started a chapter I wasn't ready to end.
Simon walked me toward the exit.
"Thanks for coming," he said. "I wasn't sure you would."
"I'm glad I did," I replied.
Outside, the air was cool. The sky already dimming.
We stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither of us moving.
"Hey, Laura?" he said.
"Yeah?"
"If you ever want to borrow a book," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I mean—not just any book. One with… good margins—I could lend you one."
I smiled. "I'd like that."
As I walked away, I felt it again—that strange, steady pull. Not overwhelming. Not demanding.
Just there.
And for the first time since I got here, I wondered—
What if the quiet ones were the hardest to walk away from?